The gym was unusually quiet for a practice day, the echo of distant spikes and shouted drills fading into the background.

Kotaro Bokuto slumped against the wall near the bleachers, shoulders drooping, head tilted slightly downward, the very image of gloom.

His usual energy—the bright, unstoppable force of nature he carried onto the court—was gone, replaced by a heavy, almost tangible sulk.

You had no idea what had set him off this time, and honestly, it didn’t matter. You knew him well enough to understand what he needed.

Quietly, you walked over, careful not to startle him.

His gaze lifted faintly as your shadow fell across him, but he didn’t react beyond a slight twitch of his messy hair. He was still withdrawn, still wrapped in that dark cloud of self-pity.

Then, with deliberate calm, you sat down on his lap. The effect was instantaneous.

His shoulders straightened, his eyes widened, and his mouth fell open in an almost comical expression of shock before stretching into the brightest, most radiant smile imaginable.

Bokuto, usually loud and dramatic even in happiness, now seemed like a human fireball contained only by the strength of your presence.

“Y-you…!” he stammered, voice breaking somewhere between disbelief and joy.

His hands shot out instinctively, wrapping around your waist as though anchoring himself to the center of his own happiness. “I—this is… amazing!”

You rested your hands lightly on his broad shoulders, your own weight settling comfortably, letting him bask in the attention without words.

He pressed closer, almost vibrating with energy, his earlier mood swings evaporating like smoke. The sulky droop in his posture was replaced by a radiant posture, chest puffed, eyes sparkling like stadium lights.

Bokuto’s laugh broke free then—a booming, infectious sound that echoed across the gym. His entire body trembled with glee, bouncing slightly in place as he held onto you.

You could feel the energy radiating off him, that raw, uncontainable spark that made him who he was. It wasn’t just happiness; it was relief, elation, the sudden release of tension he hadn’t even realized he was carrying.

“Seriously! You’re the best! The BEST!” he exclaimed, arms tightening around you, head resting briefly against yours as he tried to contain himself but failed spectacularly.

Every so often, he’d sit up straighter, then flop back against you in a mix of laughter and over-the-top dramatic sighs of contentment.

You didn’t need to say a word. Your presence, the simple act of sitting there, had completely shifted his mood.

He radiated warmth, enthusiasm, and gratitude, all wrapped up in the messy, chaotic, larger-than-life package that was Kotaro Bokuto.